Even the abstract paintings on the wall were gray. What is it? Good God!” An unhappy little smile parted her lips. She flung aside every plan she had in life, every discretion. She was clad in fresh linen, but still wore the riding-habit she had appropriated, having sponged out the spots of blood late last night and left it to dry in the kitchens. "Rowland," said Lady Trafford, regarding him with a look of indescribable anxiety, "you have assured me that I shall behold my son.
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